


Pillow Talk

by moonblossom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And John loves it, Ficlet, Fluff, It can in the Sherlock fandom, M/M, Post-Coital, Sherlock is terribly inappropriate, Short, can that be a thing?, morbid fluff, silly conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's idea of appropriate post-sex chat is warped on the best of days. Unsurprisingly, John finds he doesn't mind one bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Charlas de almohada](https://archiveofourown.org/works/822520) by [randomsociopath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomsociopath/pseuds/randomsociopath)



Sherlock’s curled in the foetal position, his face buried in the side of John’s throat. John’s got his arms wrapped protectively around Sherlock, tucked into the warmth of his chest rather like the world’s most cumbersome rugby ball. The smell of sex still hangs in the air, but they’re both sated and sleepy now.

“When I die, my brain is going to science, but you’ll get my heart.” Sherlock murmurs into the soft space where John’s neck meets his shoulder. “Preserved for all eternity in a jar of formaldehyde.”

John chuckles, warm breath ruffling Sherlock’s hair.

“Such a romantic, you are. Besides, who’s to say that you’ll go first? I am older than you, after all.”

Sherlock looks up, his eyes wide and lost. It’s clear he hasn’t considered the possibility of dying after John. Reading the panic in Sherlock’s face, John presses a kiss to the mess of his curls.

“Shh, you. Nobody’s dying any time soon.”

Sherlock’s only response is a soft grunt, muffled against John’s neck.

They lie in contented silence for a bit, until Sherlock’s hands start stroking John’s ribs.

“I suspect your torso would fit entirely inside mine, John. I’ve got broad shoulders, and you’re much smaller than you look under all those layers.”

“Thanks, Sherlock. Really. Just what every man wants to hear from his lover.”

He stops mumbling, but Sherlock’s hands continue their meandering path across John’s body, and John knows he’s measuring, testing his hypothesis. Sherlock huffs contentedly against John’s collarbone, warm and damp and comforting as his hands stop exploring and settle at the base of John’s spine.

“If you do die before me…” Sherlock’s words are quiet, considering. “If you do, can I have your skull?”

“Sherlock…” John tries to sound scolding, but ends up giggling instead, thoroughly undermining his tone of voice. “I told you before. Nobody’s dying. Stop dwelling on it.” He smiles and pulls Sherlock closer to him, and Sherlock takes it as an invitation to cling further, wrapping one leg around John’s hips and sliding the other between his legs, effectively caging them together.

If anyone had suggested to John six months ago that he’d be lying tangled naked in bed having the world’s most morbid post-coital chat with a gorgeous bloke, he’d have written them up a referral for a psych consult, but now he can’t imagine it any other way.


End file.
